The Queen of Sheba & My Cousin the Colonel eBook

II

With the departure of Our Country’s Gallant
Defenders, as they were loosely denominated by some—­the
Idiots, as they were compactly described by others—­monotony
again settled down upon Rivermouth. Sergeant
O’Neil’s heraldic emblems disappeared from
Anchor Street, and the quick rattle of the tenor drum
at five o’clock in the morning no longer disturbed
the repose of peace-loving citizens. The tide
of battle rolled afar, and its echoes were not of
a quality to startle the drowsy old seaport.
Indeed, it had little at stake. Only four men
had gone from the town proper. One, Captain Kittery,
died before reaching the seat of war; one deserted
on the way; one, Lieutenant Bangs, was sent home invalided;
and only James Dutton was left to represent the land
force of his native town. He might as well have
died or deserted, for he was promptly forgotten.

From time to time accounts of battles and bombardments
were given in the columns of the Rivermouth Barnacle,
on which occasions the Stars and Stripes, held in
the claws of a spread eagle, decorated the editorial
page—­a cut which until then had been used
only to celebrate the bloodless victories of the ballot.
The lists of dead, wounded, and missing were always
read with interest or anxiety, as might happen, for
one had friends and country acquaintances, if not fellow-townsmen,
with the army on the Rio Grande. Meanwhile nobody
took the trouble to bestow a thought on James Dutton.
He was as remote and shadowy in men’s memories
as if he had been killed at Thermopylae or Bunker’s
Hill. But one day the name of James Dutton blazed
forth in a despatch that electrified the community.
At the storming of Chapultepec, Private James Dutton,
Company K, Rivermouth, had done a very valorous deed.
He had crawled back to a plateau on the heights, from
which the American troops had been driven, and had
brought off his captain, who had been momentarily
stunned by the wind of a round-shot. Not content
with that, Private Dutton had returned to the dangerous
plateau, and, under a heavy fire, had secured a small
field-piece which was about to fall into the hands
of the enemy. Later in the day this little howitzer
did eminent service. After touching on one or
two other minor matters, the despatch remarked, incidentally,
that Private James Dutton had had his left leg blown
off.

The name of James Dutton was instantly on every lip
in town. Citizens who had previously ignored
his existence, or really had not been aware of it,
were proud of him. The Hon. Jedd Deane said that
he had. long regarded James Dutton as a young man
of great promise, a—­er—­most
remarkable young person, in short; one of the kind
with much—­er—­latent ability.
Postmaster Mugridge observed, with the strong approval
of those who heard him, that young Dutton was nobody’s
fool, though what especial wisdom Dutton had evinced
in having his leg blown off was not clear. Captain